


The Thing With Feathers

by NightOfTheLand



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Introspection, M/M, Pre-Movie, Religion, crusades era, praying
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:28:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26980663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NightOfTheLand/pseuds/NightOfTheLand
Summary: He could feel his hands shaking as he whispered his confession up to heaven, deprived of true confession by his own repulsion for so long, preferring to find solace in these moments of quiet between him and his god the vast yawning darkness of the night sky looming overhead, reminding him every night how small he truly is. And just how insignificant his problem of falling in love with his traveling partner, companion, friend, former enemy, actually was.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 6
Kudos: 55





	The Thing With Feathers

**Author's Note:**

> Hello again! Second fic in this fandom, and oops maybe I am projecting onto Nicky in this fic. It's a little introspective and a little religion but I really loved writing it and hope I can make a second chapter happen after some more research. I know religion is a sensitive topic for some, and I tried to reflect that in the fic. I am happy to talk if there is something bothering you about how religion is portrayed in this fic. 
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoy this read! Next chapter coming soon!

The sand was coarse beneath his knees where he knelt. The air was gradually becoming humid, the smell of the sea filling their noses as they neared Acre. It reminded him of home, not that he had many good memories, his time there undercut with his mother’s pious devotion to God, his father’s cruel hand, his Holy Orders he had taken to relieve the burden of another mouth for his family to feed. He had believed or still did if the sand digging into his knees currently had anything to say about it, but he wasn’t sure if he believed the way he once did. 

Behind him, tending their small fire, his traveling partner - partner, what a word for him to use, how he wished he had other words like Yusuf did for all things - was sitting quietly. Respectful of Nicolo’s prayers the way Nicolo was respectful of Yusuf’s. And pray he did, hands clasped over his breast, head bowed, eyes clenched so tightly closed they ached. He could feel them burning with everything he was about to finally offer up to God. Not that God didn’t know, but well, Nicolo knew it was complicated. 

Instead, he knelt, just outside their circle of light and warmth in the cool desert night, on his knees about to beg his God for guidance when all he wanted to do was return to their fire, their small camp and simply take his travel companion and hold him close. (Companion, another fine word, but still not right for how conflicted he felt about the other man.) Even though he had long since lost any devotion to the Church - after all he had seen and done and lived and died through in the Holy Land he didn’t know if he would ever be able to show any sort of love or adulation to the Church again. But yet, here he was, tattered prayer rope fashioned from simple hemp that he hadn’t held for almost a decade yet had kept tucked in his tunic, close to his heart since he had arrived in the Holy Land all those many years ago (too many for him to count now, though he knew Yusuf followed the passage of time more studiously than he did), clutched in his hands, fingers nimbly twisting overworn knots as he prayed. 

The fire crackled behind him signaling that Yusuf had added more kindling, and Nicolò hunched his shoulders and pressed his chin to his chest and bared his soul. He could feel his hands shaking as he whispered his confession up to heaven, deprived of true confession by his own repulsion for so long, preferring to find solace in these moments of quiet between him and his god the vast yawning darkness of the night sky looming overhead, reminding him every night how small he truly is. And just how insignificant his problem of falling in love with his traveling partner, companion, friend, former enemy, actually was. 

Nicolo’s mouth felt dryer than the sand beneath his knees as he mouthed the words _ Pater Noster _ over and over again, unable to finish the well worn, once comfortable and familiar prayer. Once upon a time, the words had felt like coming home, now they tasted like bile in his mouth, sand between his teeth, words sticking in the back of his throat. He clutched the worn prayer rope between shaking fingers, fingers the first knot over and over again, unable to get past the first prayer. Instead, swallowing hard, he grit his teeth, and tilted his head up to the sky, blinking his eyes open to stare at the blanket of night above him, stars happy pinpoints in the veil of the heavens, angel’s eyes staring down on him in his moment of turmoil. 

He had watched Yusuf pray more than once, listening to the soft timbre of the other man’s voice as he prayed, movements strange and foreign at first, now almost more familiar than his own childhood prayers. He had seen the other man whisper his own intercession to God between the rote, and Nicolo figured why not give it a try? If the old words felt like poison on his tongue, new words couldn’t hurt. 

“Padre,” he whispered softly into the darkness, hearing the snap of the fire behind him, the sound of Yusuf merely existing, the sound of his heart pounding in his ears, “Padre, forgive me. I - I, no that’s not right.” Nicolo shook his head to himself, closing his eyes briefly as he breathed deeply through his nose, “I haven’t lost faith in you, Father, I know Your love is indescribable, but I cannot reconcile what I have seen done in Your name.” 

He paused and listened to the sounds of the desert, the world that came alive in the darkness around them. He listened to the sound of the fire crackling behind him, the warmth of the flames licking at his back. He listened to the sound of his traveling partner - Yusuf, the thought of his name made his whole body burn bright - shuffling around in their little camp. 

“I’ve never asked for anything, not even to live though you’ve blessed me - or cursed me - with life when I never asked for it. So please,” he paused, his words whispered, harsh in the incomplete silence of the night. The stars blinked above him, and he traced now-familiar patterns with his eyes, fingering the prayer rope. “Please, tell me, Padre, tell me what I have been feeling is not wrong. I know Your love isn’t that small. I know it can’t possibly be. The - what I feel can’t be wrong,” he sighed, biting his bottom lip before he bowed his head again, “ _ Pater noster qui es in coelis, sanctificetur nomen tuum; adveniat regnum tuum, fiat voluntas tua, sicut in coelo et in terra. Panem nostrum quotidianum da nobis hodie, et dimitte nobis debita nostra, sicut et nos dimittimus debitoribus nostris. Et ne nos inducas in tentationem sed libera nos a malo _ .” The words flowing easier this time, something settling in his body as he looked up towards the night sky again, stars blinking at him as if to say good job. He fingered the second knot for a moment before he swallowed hard and simply mutter, “Amen” before crossing himself, tucking his prayer rope back in the pocket of his tunic. 

His knees cracked as he stood, body protesting, sand falling from his clothes as he crossed the few steps back to their camp, the light of the fire warm on his face. Yusuf looked up from where he was sketching in his small bundle of papers. A smile that warmed Nicolo more than any fire ever could lit Yusuf’s face. “Alright?” Yusuf murmured softly in Italian. 

A sudden sense of peace washed over Nicolo as he met Yusuf’s eyes, the turmoil of his soul settling as if called by Christ Himself to still. And he blinked back the heat behind his eyes, allowing himself a slow easy smile that was answered by a soft look Nicolò knew was only for him. Something compelled him to cross the short distance between them and drop back to his knees before Yusuf, reaching for the other man’s hands. 

Yusuf gave him a perplexed look but allowed it. They weren’t overly tactile with each other, simple touches here and there, mostly on purposeful accident, but touching with intent was new. And it sent a thrill down Nicolo’s spine. But still, that peace in his soul remained. 

Warm brown held cool gray and before long Nicolò felt he was going to drown in the depths of his Yusuf’s eyes. In a bold gesture, he reached up to cup Yusuf’s cheek, beard soft beneath his palm. The look of confusion furrowed the other man’s brow and Nicolò gave him a soft smile before he leaned forward, pressing his forehead to Yusuf’s. 

“May I?” He asked softly, the words halting and rough in Arabic, but he felt Yusuf’s jaw unclench and suddenly soft lips were on his and he sighed into the press of lips. 

Fingers tangled in his hair, pulling it from its loose tail. He sighed again as he smiled into the kiss and let the other man take the lead, lips warm and chapped against his, beard rough against his own, body warm with the thrum of desire in his veins. And that peace, that blissful silence and stillness in his soul, made his heart sing as Yusuf set aside his sketches and dragged Nicolò down on top of him, lips never parting. 

**Author's Note:**

> Wheew, that happened! Let me know what you think!


End file.
